I'm saying it here, in story the name Mongrel would have no reason to be chosen, but it is to iconic to not use so I'm just hand waving it.
—xxx
A Dreamscape pod was a very different beast from a standard sleeping pod. Where the latter was built to optimize rest and monitor vitals during natural sleep, the former was something far more sophisticated—an intricate fusion of advanced technology and rare spellcraft. It wasn't just a pod—it was a gateway. A Dreamscape pod allowed an Awakened to step into an artificial reality, one meticulously constructed through the aspect ability of a powerful Saint and the bleeding edge of arcane engineering.
This simulated realm still adhered to most laws of mundane physics, but it offered a unique exception: in the Dreamscape, Memories and echoes could be damaged or even destroyed—but not permanently lost. It was a place of second chances and endless repetitions. Over time, the Dreamscape had evolved into a vital cornerstone of both education and entertainment for the Awakened. And now, at last, Sunless had one of his own.
The installation process—normally mired in bureaucracy and waitlists—should have taken weeks, if not months. Buying two entire houses on the street to secure the necessary space was no small feat, either. But Sunless had simply whispered his name into the right ears, and doors had opened. Connections had been leveraged. Rules had been bent. Speed, as always, could be bought.
There were three reasons he had gone to such lengths.
First, he wanted to expand Shadow Dance. Training in the Dreamscape allowed him to experiment with new combat styles and strategies, all without the need to seek out live sparring partners or risk unnecessary injury. Every opponent, every encounter, was an opportunity to refine his craft.
Second, there was a particular goal he was chasing. The [Mantle of the Underworld] required a specific number of victories to be earned. Sunless had grown increasingly curious about what would happen once he met that condition. Something about it pulled at him.
And third—perhaps most pragmatically—was money. He understood just how lucrative the entertainment industry truly was. The stories from the Forgotten Shore had already the idea for films, animated series, and an avalanche of merchandise. Sunless stood to make a staggering fortune in royalties. But for someone like him, even that wasn't enough. Memories were expensive—infamously so—and the more powerful they were, the steeper the cost. If he was going to continue growing stronger, he needed more than just talent. He needed capital.
He had done his research—read up on filming techniques, popular arenas, the major names in the Dreamscape scene—but there was one simple thing he had somehow failed to consider.
> "Before proceeding further, please choose an alias."
He blinked, stunned.
Of course. An alias. Everyone used one to preserve anonymity and craft a persona.
His first attempts were obvious—"Nobody," "Zero," "Shadow," "No One," even "Blank." All taken. Predictably.
In the end, he chose something utterly disconnected from his real identity. Something forgettable. Something obscure. And with that, he selected the Colosseum as his destination.
A moment later, the black void vanished.
Reality shifted.
A thunderous voice echoed from the heavens:
> "Challenger *Mongrel* has entered the Colosseum!"
Sunless found himself standing in the middle of a vast oval arena. Sand crunched beneath his feet, its golden grains long since stained red by the countless battles fought here. The merciless sun blazed above, casting no shadows, only heat. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, blood, and death—a suffocating, feral perfume that clung to the walls like memory.
He looked around.
The towering amphitheater walls rose like jagged stone fangs, ringed with rows of spectators in archaic garb—loose robes that left their arms bare and their bloodlust unhidden. The small crowd roared with anticipation, their voices laced with cruel glee. Their faces were twisted in savage delight, eyes gleaming like those of predators. They looked more like demons than people.
It was one of the Dreamscape's most iconic battlegrounds—the Colosseum. A classic. Normally, these stands would be overflowing during official tournaments, but this crowd was only a fraction of that madness.
Sunless didn't mind. A smaller audience suited him. His first few matches would be rough. He knew that.
From the edge of the arena, a figure stepped forward with a confident stride. Behind the demonic visage of the [Weaver's mask], a smile flickered.
The challenger was a young man—taller than Sunless by a head, slim and wiry. Text appeared in the air around him, glowing softly.
> *"Brazing Gull"*
> *Victories: 87*
> *Defeats: 93*
Not the most impressive record. But that was exactly what Sunless needed—a warm-up opponent. Someone experienced, but not too dangerous.
He raised his blade—Serpent, now in its sleek sword form—and pointed it at the other man.
"Want to be the first blood I draw?" he asked, voice calm.
The arena roared once more as the system confirmed the challenge.
The duel was about to begin.
Sunless stood motionless at the heart of the arena, his eyes calmly watching Brazing Gull as the young man assumed a fighting stance. The sun beat down relentlessly, casting a halo of heat over the blood-stained sand, but Sunless barely noticed. His body was relaxed, loose, yet perfectly poised.
Beneath him, a single shadow stretched along the ground like spilled ink, its edges lazily curling at the heat. Three more shadows clung to the [autumn leave]—the subtle Memory woven into his form, altering his hair color to white . It was just enough to throw off anyone trying to guess who he really was, even if [Weavers mask] made that nigh impossible. There was no need to use anything stronger. He wasn't here to crush anyone. Not yet.
Brazing Gull made the first move.
With a shout, the young man lunged forward, his dao sword flashing in the sun as he drove it straight toward Sunless's chest. The blade moved fast—far faster than most would expect—but not fast enough.
Sunless tilted his wrist and swatted the thrust aside with the casual ease of brushing away a leaf. The flat of his blade met the edge of the dao with a sharp *clang*, redirecting it off-line. The strike had already been flawed from the beginning—too linear, too eager. The boy's weight was committed too early. A half-second too soon, and a half-step too far.
Sunless took a single, graceful step to the side, letting the attack pass by him harmlessly.
*Pathetic.*
He didn't say it aloud, but the thought lingered, cold and impassive. Nephis had drilled footwork into his bones until it became reflex. Saint had taught him how to read the moment of a strike not by the sword, but by the tension in a shoulder. And real battle—lethal battle—had sharpened everything else. There was a difference between sparring and surviving. Brazing Gull, despite his record, had likely never experienced the latter.
The other man recovered quickly, but Sunless could already see it—uncertainty in the lines of his shoulders, doubt forming behind the eyes. He was starting to realize that the opponent he'd just challenged wasn't another amateur looking for a casual match.
Sunless tilted his head, almost curious.
He raised Serpent again, not in a defensive posture, but as a conductor might raise a baton—inviting, beckoning.
"Try again."
Brazing Gull's jaw tightened. Whether it was pride or desperation that drove him, he didn't retreat. With a frustrated growl, he adjusted his footing and came at Sunless again—this time with a flurry of sweeping slashes. Wide, fast, and showy.
Sunless didn't move at first. He simply watched, letting the arc of each swing map itself in the air. The strikes were meant to overwhelm, to drive him back—but they lacked depth, lacked weight. The tempo was wrong. The spacing was poor. The boy was playing with his sword, not fighting with it.
On the fourth swing, Sunless stepped in.
Not back. *In.*
His body slipped under the incoming blade like smoke curling beneath a door, and Serpent snapped forward—one precise strike slashing across Brazing Gull's ribs. Not deep, not fatal. Just enough to draw blood and send a clear message.
The young man staggered, shocked. His eyes widened as he glanced down at the cut, breath hitching. The crowd let out a pleased hiss of noise, more amused than impressed. A few scattered cheers echoed from the stands.
But Brazing Gull wasn't done yet. He hissed through his teeth, then shifted his grip, bringing the dao into a low guard and circling around. Sunless followed him with the calm, unreadable eyes of a hunter. He could have ended the fight already—but there was something almost instructive in watching his opponent struggle. Something useful in seeing the patterns of desperation.
Another lunge came. Sloppy. Telegraphed.
Sunless punished it instantly. He parried and countered, Serpent slicing along the Gull's forearm. Blood flew in an arc. The young man cried out and stumbled back, clutching the arm, now slick with red.
Sunless exhaled quietly through his nose.
"You're not done," he said softly, more observation than insult.
But Brazing Gull roared—pure pride now—and charged one last time with both hands gripping his dao in a reckless overhead strike.
It was the end.
Sunless stepped into the blow with perfect timing. One clean movement.
Serpent rose.
And fell.
The edge of the blade passed through flesh and bone like water through silk.
Brazing Gull's head flew from his shoulders, his body collapsing a heartbeat later onto the hot sand. Blood pooled quickly, soaking into the ground like ink blotting parchment.
The crowd roared with approval. The name *Mongrel* echoed through the stands, accompanied by cheers and laughter.
Sunless said nothing. He simply stood in the center of the arena, sword in hand, shadows curling at his heels like loyal dogs. The heat pressed down, the smell of blood thick in the air. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he filed away the mistakes the boy had made and how he made them.
'*'
Sunless was quietly satisfied with how the ten matches had gone. None of them had been particularly difficult—he hadn't once been pushed or forced to draw on anything beyond the most basic of his arsenal. But a few had proven... *tedious*. Some opponents had Aspect abilities designed less to win and more to stall, stretch time, drag out the inevitable. Annoying tricks, like illusions, duplication, or teleportation that made chasing them down a chore. Still, he had dealt with each one cleanly. Efficiently.
But ten would have to do.
There wasn't enough time for more.
As the Dreamscape pod hissed open with a soft pneumatic *click*, Sunless stepped out and blinked in the soft light of the room. He glanced at the digital clock mounted just beside the pod's frame. The glowing numbers told him he still had a few hours before the main event of the day—meeting up with Rain to celebrate her birthday.
He'd taken the time to do things properly. Spoken to her parents beforehand. Asked permission. Made sure they were comfortable with him taking Rain—and her twin brothers, Brock and Blaze—out for the day. They had agreed without much fuss. Apparently, the winter solstice was a hectic day for both Noble and Fort.
Fort had duties to tend to, but Noble especially had been busy—giving final words of guidance to a fresh wave of Sleepers preparing for their journey into the Dream Realm. Her voice carried weight in the Academy, and today, it was needed more than ever.
Sunless let his mind drift as he began his morning routine, the rhythm of his day grounding him in the familiar. He started with breakfast, cooking something simple but warm for Effie—eggs, toast, and a hint of spice that he knew she'd appreciate, even if she grumbled about it. Then came the shower, the steam washing away the remnants of artificial sand and imagined blood. He groomed himself carefully, moving with calm precision, then pulled on clothes that wouldn't draw attention—black cargo pants, a loose gray shirt, and a simple silver chain.
He studied himself in the mirror. Not intimidating. Not conspicuous. Just another eighteen-year-old with half a plan and too many secrets.
With a final touch—slicking his hair back and applying a clean, subtle fragrance—he stepped out to go pick up Rain and her brothers.
And despite himself, he could feel his heart starting to pound. A low, steady hammering in his chest that had nothing to do with nerves from battle. It was ridiculous, really—he'd fought monsters, led teams, survived hell—but walking up to her front door still made him feel like a fool.
They were already outside, waiting for him.
The twins spotted him first.
"Hey! Who's ready to go to *Star World*?" Sunless called out, deliberately hamming up the excitement in his voice for their sake.
"*Me! Me!*" both Brock and Blaze shouted at once. Their little legs kicked into gear as they sprinted toward him, crashing into his sides with twin hugs that almost knocked him off balance. Their enthusiasm was boundless, infectious—and he couldn't help but grin.
Rain, by contrast, gave a shy, awkward wave.
"Hey…." she murmured, her voice trailing off at the end.
Sunless nodded, his own voice equally hesitant. "Hey."
And just like that, the four of them stood together—under a pale winter sky, hearts quietly beating, the day ahead of them still waiting to unfold.
'*'
Star World, like every amusement park worth its name, was overflowing with life. The joyous shrieks of children on rides, the bursts of laughter from teens and families, the hum of conversation that ebbed and flowed like waves on a busy shore—it all filled the air with a dizzying warmth. The morning sky still wore its early darkness, but the lights of the park had no need for the sun. Neon streaks, glowing signs, and the strobing brilliance of spinning rides cast a dreamlike sheen over everything. The scent of sweet batter and frying oil drifted from food stalls, mixing with the sugary perfume of cotton candy and caramel. It was the kind of scene pulled straight from a family movie—a portrait of carefree happiness.
And yet, Rain felt anything but carefree.
Not miserable, exactly. But tense. Knotted up inside with nerves and a kind of quiet panic she couldn't easily explain. The twins, at least, were utterly at ease. Brock and Blaze had welcomed Sunless into their lives as if he'd always been there. All it had taken was the promise of an amusement park and her parents introducing him with cheerful simplicity as *Uncle Sunny*. From that point on, the two little boys had been glued to his side, dragging him from ride to ride with unfiltered affection.
But Rain wasn't as quick to adapt. She couldn't just plug Sunless into her mental definition of *family* like flipping a switch.
Yes, she had *wanted* to meet him. *Wanted* to get to know her long-lost older brother—the mysterious stranger who shared her blood and lived just a few houses down. She had imagined it countless times, dreamed of it even. But the reality of standing beside him now, in the flesh, was different. Messier. He was still a stranger to her. One who looked like he belonged in a different world entirely.
She stood beside him on the edge of a children's ride, watching Brock and Blaze giggle from their seats in a slow-moving boat, the kind shaped like a smiling animal and sailing lazily through a shallow loop of water. Other kids waved and shouted, their laughter rising above the music of the ride. Rain, meanwhile, stood stiff and silent next to her brother, unsure what to say, unsure how to feel.
Sunless's presence was hard to ignore—by her, and by everyone else.
People turned to look at him as they passed. He was tall and lean, with hair the color of ravens' wings and eyes like polished obsidian. His skin had that pale, porcelain smoothness that never quite looked real, and his features were sharp enough to seem carved, a single scar across his left eye the only imperfection. He radiated the quiet intensity of an Awakened—undeniable and effortless. Like a shadow that chose when to be seen.
And next to him?
She felt like a poorly drawn sketch beside a painting. Her long limbs felt too long. Her black hair was dull and unstyled. Her pale skin looked washed-out in comparison to his striking clarity. She felt gawky, uncertain, and much too visible.
So, she'd asked for cotton candy.
It wasn't that she wanted it. Not really. But it gave her a reason to send him away for a few minutes. A chance to breathe. A chance to think instead of feel.
She watched his retreating back as he walked toward the nearest vendor, and her guilt twisted quietly in her stomach.
Rain knew it must be strange for him, too. This wasn't easy on *either* of them. And her parents had raised her better than this. They'd taught her to lead with grace, to show kindness and confidence no matter how awkward a situation was. Right now, she wasn't doing a very good job of that.
She took a deep breath, then nodded to herself.
*I'll do better*, she told herself silently. *I want him to be part of this family. So I'll meet him halfway.*
Because family—real family—wasn't just about blood. It was about the effort you put in.
'*'
Rain plucked a bit of her blue cotton candy and brought it to her lips, letting the sweetness dissolve as she walked beside her brothers and the boy who, apparently, was her brother too.
They meandered through Star World's winding paths, past flashing lights and glowing signs and the occasional costumed mascot posing for photos. The twins ran a few steps ahead, laughing and pointing out every carousel and rollercoaster as if each was the pinnacle of wonder. Rain, however, wasn't really looking at any of it.
She was listening to her heartbeat thudding too loudly in her chest.
This was it—her first chance to really talk to Sunless. Really *talk*. Not just awkward greetings or forced politeness. A conversation. Something she'd wanted for a long time… but now that she had it, she was stuck in her own head.
What did you say to a stranger who shared your blood? What was the right balance between interest and intrusion? She didn't want to ask about his childhood—it felt like picking at a wound. Music might be too personal, school too shallow. Would she come across as boring? Self-absorbed? She had no idea what he liked. What if this whole day was just… a favor to their parents?
Still, she had to start somewhere.
She took a breath, then tried to make her voice sound casual. "Hey, uh… thanks. For the cotton candy."
It came out a little stiff, but not terrible.
The twins chimed in at once, voices muffled through sugar-coated grins. "Thanks, Uncle Sunny!!"
Sunless chuckled under his breath, his gaze never straying too far from the boys as they darted from one food stand to the next. "No problem, Rain. Hope it's the right flavor?"
Rain tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, nodded. "Yeah. Blue's my second favorite. Red's first. You?"
He popped a piece of green cotton candy into his mouth before answering, thoughtful. "Green. Bit weird how we can taste colors, huh?"
That earned a genuine laugh from her—small, surprised, but real. "Yeah. I guess it is."
Something eased between them then, just a little. Like a tight knot loosening.
The small talk continued—simple stuff, meandering naturally. Rain admitted she preferred her dad's cooking, while Sunless mentioned his friend Effie, who could apparently out-eat a stadium. He asked about her school, and she told him honestly: she hadn't made close friends yet, and the new school still felt like a puzzle she couldn't quite solve. But she was relieved—no one there had linked her to him. The government's anonymous report about the Forgotten Shore had spared her any of that spotlight.
He didn't react with surprise or pity, just nodded again—quiet, understanding. That felt… good.
Later, they settled at a small bench in a quieter part of the park, waffles stacked high in front of them, berries and whipped cream heaped like sugary mountains. The twins were in heaven, too busy chewing to speak. For a moment, Rain thought the conversation had run its course.
Then Blaze looked up from his plate, mouth smeared with syrup, and casually dropped a truth bomb like it was nothing.
"Night's your best friend, right, Sunny?"
Rain blinked. Her fork froze mid-air.
She turned to Sunless. Slowly.
"…*What?*" she asked, blinking hard.
Sunless looked up, a smile twitching at his lips.
She lunged forward before she knew what she was doing, grabbing him by the collar. "*What do you mean* 'Night is your best friend'?! You mean *Nightingale*? *The* Night?!"
He just laughed—easy, unaffected—and gently unhooked her fingers from his shirt. "Yeah. We're close. If you want, I could ask him if he'd be okay with meeting you sometime."
Rain stared. Her brain felt like it short-circuited for a moment. She nodded—mechanically, starstruck—and leaned back in her seat, trying not to hyperventilate into her waffles.
She didn't notice, right away, that something inside her had shifted. That the unease was gone. That sitting beside him no longer felt like standing at the edge of something unfamiliar. Somehow, without her noticing, the two of them had stepped closer—not in physical space, but in something quieter. Something more important.
They were still strangers in many ways. But now, they were strangers learning how to *not* be.
'*'
Rain hadn't expected to have fun.
But she had.
The last few hours passed in a blur of laughter, motion, and flashing lights. She had screamed herself hoarse on the high-flying rides, won a ludicrously oversized teddy bear at a ring toss game, and even found herself giggling—*giggling*, of all things—when Blaze had tried to hide a churro down his shirt like a squirrel hoarding for winter.
It had all felt… oddly normal. Not perfect. Not easy. But *warm*. Familiar in a way she hadn't thought this strange day could ever become.
That comfort cracked a little when Sunless announced it was time to go.
Predictably, the twins began to revolt. Small fists clenched, chins quivering, the world ending in real time. Rain felt her face flush with secondhand embarrassment as Brock looked ready to throw himself on the floor in dramatic protest. She opened her mouth to scold them—gently, but firmly.
But Sunless beat her to it.
"Alright, alright," he said, voice calm, smooth, not the least bit ruffled. He crouched down to their level, ruffling Blaze's hair. "What if we go grab some toys before heading home, yeah?"
Instant silence. Wide eyes. Instant forgiveness.
Just like that, crisis averted. Rain blinked.
The mall they ended up in was pristine—marble floors that gleamed like glass, soft music drifting through overhead speakers, and polished storefronts filled with rich colors and soft lighting. She hadn't been here in months, not since her parents last dragged her out for holiday shopping. It was a world away from their usual routine.
The twins tore through the toy store like wild animals on a sugar high, emerging eventually with bags stuffed full of action figures, puzzles, and some sort of drone that Rain suspected wouldn't last a full afternoon.
Sunless had bought books. Thick ones, mostly, with heavy spines and unflashy covers. He didn't even hesitate—just picked up a few titles, skimmed the back blurbs, and bought them like someone buying groceries. Like this was normal. Like his idea of treating himself was a new fantasy series and a quiet afternoon.
She watched him from a few steps away, her own arms awkwardly crossed over her chest. She hadn't known he liked to read. She hadn't known… well, anything, really.
When he offered to get her something, she'd immediately said no. Reflexively. Automatically. But Sunless just smiled in that quiet way of his, and said, "Rain, I *want* to. Credits aren't a problem. Besides, it's fun. I like spoiling you guys."
*Spoiling.* *You guys.* Like they were already his. Like this odd, patchwork family already fit in his hands.
So now here she was.
In the clothing section.
Rain hovered in front of a rack of soft hoodies, still not quite sure how she'd ended up there. She wasn't really a shopper, not usually. Most of her clothes were practical—school uniforms, loose T-shirts, the occasional skirt when she felt brave. But now, with the soft hum of the mall around her and the strange thrill of being allowed to *choose*, she found herself running her fingers along fabric, lingering on colors she liked.
It wasn't about the hoodie. Or the price. Or even the strange newness of having someone—an older brother—wanting to buy her something just because.
It was the feeling. The permission. The chance to indulge, even a little, in the quiet hope that this odd little outing was the start of something real.
And so, shyly, tentatively, Rain pulled a dark red sweater off the rack and turned to show Sunless.
"…What do you think?" she asked.
He looked up from his book bag, tilted his head, and gave her a small smile. "Looks good on you."
And somehow, that small moment made her heart feel warmer than the sweater ever could.